


Home

by honeyfilth



Series: A Home is Built One Brick at a Time [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/F, F/M, Found Family, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining, Temporarily Unrequited Love, almost ??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 06:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20502755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyfilth/pseuds/honeyfilth
Summary: He has no business with her.She has no business with them.Maybe that makes them a good match?Home really is where the heart is.///Pre-DMC 5, post-Nero and Nico working gigs together for Devil May Cry.





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter made me do it!!! I've been having real issues finding the stamina and will to write and so prompts and having folks egg me on has helped so so much. I'm indebted to people who listen to me rant about DMC and to people who stoke my creative flame in any number of ways! Thank you so much.

He has no business with her. 

She has no business with them. 

Maybe that makes them a good match? 

Kyrie’s fingers are slender and deft as she works, pulling the thread taut through the thin cotton and back under again. The rhythm is easy to follow, hypnotic in its comfort. The morning light pours in from the window, cracked for a gentle early autumn breeze. The kids are already at school, the house quiet save for the gently rumbling coffee maker in their small kitchen. 

Nico notes how Kyrie doesn’t even have to pause and think about what she’s doing as she repairs the jacket sleeve Nero nearly tore clean off on their last job. (Okay, it wasn’t Nero. It was an ugly-ass demon. But still.) She hums lightly, an antiquated melody Nico is sure comes from her days in the church. She pauses to inspect her progress, chewing at her bottom lip. She’s nearly done already. That’s Kyrie though, isn’t it? Always binding things back together again when they’ve made a mess of themselves. 

The pages in Nico’s lap are nearly all full, but she continues to sketch dutifully: Shading in the softness of the hair around Kyrie’s face, the roundness of her cupid’s bow, the sunlight as it hits the bowed crown of her head. She feels differently about this sort of work. It isn’t technical like her weapons sketches, or exploratory like her catalog of demons. Something inside her chest aches. 

She’s not sure if she loves it or hates it. 

“--dumbass?” 

“Huh--” Nicos starts, snapping her sketchbook shut. “What?” 

Nero is hovering behind her, arms crossed. He raises an eyebrow at her eagerness to hide her work, but doesn’t say anything about it. Leaning forward against the back of the couch, he taps at the top of Nico’s head with one finger. “Thought we were meeting in the garage for some tune ups at 7:30? We’ve got a big job today! It’s 8 already, and--” 

“Alright, alright!” She swats his hand away, standing and placing a hand on her hip. “For the record,  _ I  _ was waitin’ on  _ you _ .” 

“Waiting on  _ me _ ?” Nero balks, scrunching his nose. “I’ve been ready! And don’t you say you need a quick smoke first!” 

Nico, who had been halfway through picking her smokes up from the coffee table, looks scandalized. “What? I-- Now you listen here--” 

They’re interrupted by a bubble of laughter. 

“You two are really at it already?” Kyrie has one hand covering her mouth, but the upturned corners of her lips are still visible. 

Nero and Nico both go pink. The tips of Nero’s ears blush delicately, Nico notes. It’s sort of...cute? She may have to sketch that later, she thinks idly. 

“Sorry, sorry. You’re right.” Nero stumbles, herding Nico to the garage. “Sorry, Kyrie!” 

“Y-yeah, sorry!” Nico manages to just get out before she’s rushed from the room. 

* * *

“Y’know, you probably shouldn’t have any business with a girl like that.” 

Nico’s comment comes out of nowhere to him, but it’s something she’s thought before. He’s giving Blue Rose a good cleaning, the jukebox inside the van echoing something familiar through the garage. His head snaps up, eyebrows furrowed. He lets out a breath in that way that he does, like a frustrated puppy. But instead of fighting her on it, he does something unexpected: He agrees. 

“Yeah, maybe.” He rubs the back of his neck, “I mean, that’s what everyone else says probably.” 

Nico’s been tinkering with Red Queen’s engine, a cigarette dangling from her lips. Something in the sound of his voice makes her stub it out and look at him. She’s been living in their spare room for about eight months now, with her and Nero about four months into running their own chapter of Devil May Cry. He tries his best to hide his softer feelings from her, knowing full well that she may take a shot at him. But it hasn’t stopped her from getting to know him anyways. Sometimes...he looks so  _ young _ . Vulnerable. Like there’s something he’s hiding in his chest that you could damn well break if you just-- 

“Ah, man. Y’know…” She begins, suddenly feeling a little bad. “It ain’t really a bad thing. Miss Kyrie chose you for a reason, y’know? You should feel pretty damn lucky.” 

“Yeah…” He looks back down at his gun, like there’s something else to be said. The silence hangs between them. 

“Mmmmmaybe,” Nico begins, grabbing a Phillips head from her tool belt and pointing at him with it, “She digs herself a bad boy. Opposites attract, y’know. A nice church girl and a punk like you? It’s somethin’ straight outta one of those pulp romance novels.” 

“Nico!” He’s exasperated, but there’s a lightness in his voice this time. Something in her chest lifts at the sound of it. 

“Yeah, yeah!” She gets up, walking over to where he stands at his work table. “I think I saw one for sale once just like this. It was called somethin’ like ‘Rough Lovin’--” 

“Would you just shut up and finish your work?” Nero groans. 

She smirks, leaning closer. “Make me.” 

Their eyes meet and damn, his are so clear and bright. She feels like she’s being really  _ seen _ whenever he looks at her like this. Like she’s finally found people who know who she is. And what an intimate and scary thing it can be to be known. 

He seems taken off guard by her retort for a moment, before he just huffs and rolls his eyes. 

“Nero--” Kyrie’s voice sounds from the door, “Oh...am I interrupting something?” She holds his repaired jacket, both eyebrows raised. It’s clear she’s noting how closely they’re standing to one another, their work seemingly abandoned. With them, that can easily mean a fight is about to break out. Sometimes there really is no telling. 

Sometimes, Nico wants to smack him. Sometimes she...doesn’t know  _ how  _ she feels.

Nico stammers, but Nero just strides away to the doorway. 

“Nah,” He shakes his head, taking his jacket from her. “Wow, Kyrie! It looks great.” 

“You think so?” She beams, “Well, I’ve gotten a lot of practice lately with how rough you’ve been on your clothes.” She gives a wry smile and he smiles sheepishly back.

“I know, I know.” 

“You guys should be heading out soon, so I did a pretty quick job. Let me know if something doesn’t feel right with the fit.” 

“I’m sure it’s perfect.” 

Nico’s tried to busy herself with the last adjustments to Red Queen’s engine, but she still sees the soft kiss they exchange in the doorway. 

She calls out to them from her bench, “Get a room, would ya?” 

Nero simply flips her off. Kyrie laughs. 

* * *

The job is easy until it isn’t. It happens so quickly, somehow surprising Nero in a way he feels shouldn’t have been allowed to happen. A shot rings out, but it isn’t his own. There’s a shout of pain, a loud thud, a sickening inhuman wail. 

“NICO!”

He’s there in an instant, but it’s an instant too late. 

It’s always an instant too late, isn’t it? 

It’s like he can’t do anything right.

In an instant, he sees his face. 

_ Credo _ . 

Revving Red Queen, he comes down on the demon’s head from above. Wrathful. A guttural snarl rips from the back of his throat and the creature smashes into the wall, cracking the plaster before splattering apart in a dark pool of blood. He’s an instant too late, and now--

Nico lays on her side at the foot of the stairs where she’s been thrown. A gun somehow remains in her grasp, which under other circumstances would be worthy of a laugh. Instead, he rushes to her side. She’s laying so still, a gash in her shoulder turning her welding smock an awful ruddy color. 

“Nico!” He shouts her name over and over, “Nico!” The familiarity of this feeling...it’s like dropping a weight clean down his throat and into his gut. The helplessness of it, the sheer heartbreak of failure-- 

“Nnnh…” She opens her eyes, flinching hard. “W-would you stop your squawkin’? I’m-- fine--” She’s trying to rise to her feet, but the movement is abandoned in favor of a pained hiss. “Ow!  _ Shit _ .” 

“Don’t try to move so fast, dumbass.” He kneels, brows knit in worry. 

“What? Not even a thank you?” She smiles through the sting as he gingerly takes a look at her ankle. It’s already beginning to swell from the fall. “I took two flights of stairs and a set of shiny demon claws for ya.” 

“I told you to be careful and stay out of the way!” 

“That thing was going for your head! I had to!” 

“You’re just supposed to be my support!” 

“We’re partners, shithead! What do you think that means?” 

“If I take a hit, I bounce back. If  _ you  _ take one--” 

There’s something in his voice that makes her freeze. Something...injured. No...something that’s been left to fester like an old infected wound. She can’t tell what it is specifically, but she can feel the shape of it. The contours of grief. 

“Hey-- hey!” She winces, “I’m sorry, okay?” 

“It’s...it’s fine.” And just like that, he’s out of steam. “We’ve gotta get you out of here. Think you can walk?” 

She laughs, “No, dumbass. What do you think I was just trying to do?” A pause. “Well, we were thinkin’ this was just a superstitious old woman but hey! At least we know it wasn’t a false alarm.” 

He shakes his head, but there’s a small smile. “Here, we need to slow the bleeding first.” 

He freezes.   
“Nero?” 

“Uh...think we have a first aid kit in the van?” He asks sheepishly. 

“I mean...we have some bandaids and neosporin floatin around, but… Man, I  _ was _ meaning to get around to that.” 

“Ah...shit.” 

“I just need a rag or something to press against it, I think.” 

Man, they needed Kyrie right now. She’d know what to do. 

Nero lets out a frustrated groan before he suddenly pauses. 

“What?” Nico asks. And suddenly he’s taking his shirt off. “Hey, WHAT?” She repeats. 

“Just-- Just press it against your shoulder! Don’t make it weird!” He exclaims, handing her the balled up cotton. She’s never seen him shirtless before, and under different circumstances she might’ve teasingly whistled at him. But the poor guy is moody enough as is, so she decides to skip it. He looks...well, good. Unsurprisingly. And she finds herself looking away, a weird shame welling up in her that she’s never felt before. 

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you.” She takes the shirt, pressing it to her wound. It elicits another cringe of pain from her and she takes a sharp breath. “Ooooh damn this sucks. Hope Kyrie knows how to get blood stains out of shit.” 

Nero has to help her to the van, much to her chagrin. He’s slipped his jacket back on as it’s begun to rain outside. She limps and he wraps one arm around her waist, nearly carrying her. The silence between them isn’t uncomfortable this time, and she finds herself leaning into his support. When had his scent become familiar? She takes a deep breath, steadying herself through the pain. It’s the smell of motor oil, the laundry soap kyrie makes, a little sweat, and...something else? 

When had that begun to smell like home? 

“Almost there,” He encourages, the sound of jangling keys in his hand. She’s not very heavy at all, something which he easily could’ve teased her about. But it doesn’t feel right in the moment. Her waist is warm and he can feel her struggling to keep one arm around his shoulders for support. She’s quite a bit shorter than Kyrie, who is admittedly pretty tall. Nico hums in acknowledgment, taking in a short but audible breath. He can tell she’s in pain, but she’s trying to act tough about it. It’s so  _ Nico _ . 

She glances up at him from under long lashes. Her skin’s looking a little pale, he notes with a little concern. Their eyes meet. He looks away. 

She notices that the tips of his ears have gone a little pink.

He has to help her to a seat and buckle her in. She tries to ignore the feeling in her chest when he leans in close. Maybe she hit her head?

“The client better tip us for this one.” She smiles. And somehow, it makes him feel a little better. 

* * *

“I’m so glad you’re okay. Thank you so much for looking after Nero.” Kyrie’s voice is gentle as she finishes the bandage around Nico’s shoulder. She presses a cool hand to Nico’s cheek, moving it upward to her forehead as if checking her temperature. “We may need to take you to get your ankle looked at tomorrow. Nero can probably drive you, but I’d be happy to come along.” 

Nico shakes her head, “Don’t worry too much, Miss Kyrie. I’ve had worse. I promise I’ll be just fine! Though clearly not all of us can just walk it off like that big lug.” 

Nico is waving off her concern, a nonchalant request to stop fretting. Why get all worked up about a sprained ankle on a girl like her? Kyrie looks into her eyes for a moment in that way she and Nero do:  _ Really  _ seeing her. Nico wants to squirm under the gaze, but she’s glued in place by the thought of someone like Kyrie caring that much about someone like her. 

She probably shouldn’t have any business with a girl like that either, Nico thinks. 

Uh. Not that that matters in the first place. 

Because it totally doesn’t. Not one bit. 

“Kyrie.”  
  
“Huh?” 

“You can just call me Kyrie, you know?” Her hand rests lightly on Nico’s knee, the other fussing lightly with the bandage.

“Oh.” Nico blinks, suddenly feeling light headed. “Kyrie.” 

When did that word start sounding like home? 

* * *

Nico hadn’t realized when she’d fallen asleep on the couch, but she had realized when she was being placed gently in her bed. Nero had let her choose to watch Mad Max for the umpteenth time, not unlike letting a kid pick a flavor of ice cream after scraping their knee. It was the newest one, apparently. Not that it really made a difference to Kyrie and him. Most movies were new ones to them after leaving the church. They just had to keep the volume down since the kids were in bed.

During the last half hour she’d passed out against Kyrie’s shoulder, face shrouded in her thick curls. Her breathing was so relaxed, and Kyrie didn’t have the heart to move her. She looked...peaceful. So, they finished up the movie and let her nap away. It may have had something to do with the pain meds she’d taken. They were the last in an emergency stash she kept hidden from the kids in the van. She had lots of odds and ends like that. It had made Kyrie laugh when she explained she’d gotten them when a prototype rocket launcher had sent her flying into the side of a building. Nico had laughed, too. 

So, Nero finds himself carrying her to bed in the small office-turned-guest-room. She suddenly feels so small in his arms. This woman with so much bravado, who can drink him under the table and look a demon in the eye and tell it to fuck off is...human. Delicate. She sighs and buries her face in his shoulder, eyes still closed. She smells like Kyrie’s laundry soap, smoke, and motor oil. 

She smells like home. 

He’s not sure how he feels about that. Something dislodges in his chest, rattles around like a pebble in a shoe. Wasn’t she supposed to be a nuisance? He tucks her gently into bed, pushing her curls out of her face and placing her glasses on the nightstand. There’s a stuffed bear their youngest gave her perched in the corner by the headboard. 

Home. 

“Nero?” Kyrie whispers. 

“Coming,” He slinks quietly to the doorway and takes her hand in his. 

Nico stirs in her bed, but her eyes are still closed. She can hear them, vaguely. As if from a dream. 

“I’m so glad you were safe today.” Kyrie whispers, and Nico can hear an edge of worry in the tone. “Please be more careful next time.” 

“I know,” Nero’s voice is more gentle than Nico thought possible. “I’m sorry.” A pause. “Thank you so much for helping me bandage Nico up. I had no idea what I was doing.” 

A giggle. “I know,” 

“H-hey!”  
  
“Hush, you’ll wake her up. I’m just so glad we have each other.” 

“Yeah,” 

They kiss, slow and sweet. Kyrie hums in approval before leaning in to kiss his cheek again. 

“Let’s go to bed,” 

The door shuts quietly and Nico drags open her eyes. 

Why does she suddenly feel so alone?


End file.
